To The Thawing Wind

Come with rain, O loud Southwester!
Bring the Singer, bring the nester.
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snow-bank stream;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But what'er you do to-night,
Bathe my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit's crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o'er;
Scatter poems on the floor,
Turn the poet out of door.

Robert Frost